


Flirting With Disaster

by TeaAndKittens



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prison, Drama, Galra Keith (Voltron), Illnesses, M/M, Magic, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaAndKittens/pseuds/TeaAndKittens
Summary: Keith should be embarrassed that a half-Galra raised with Alteans seems to know more about why he’s dying than he does.  But he’d been orphaned and exiled from the other Galra for long enough to almost forget his mother’s face and the sound of his father’s voice; there was no one to teach him about mating sickness and the arcane ritual that would save him.  Shiro’s help was both humiliating and necessary.
 
Although it’s not like he can do much about his illness or the infuriating, mesmerizing, unpredictable Altean boy who caused it, or the strong, comforting, confusing warrior offering to help get Keith through it - not when they’re all stuck in a Galra prison.  None of them have time for romance; escape has to be the only thing they can think about.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to keep this quick, but I'm bad at that.
> 
> 1: About the warnings - you may have noticed there is no n/c dub-con tag here even though it is a prison AU and a mating fic. That is not an oversight. Also, I don't know if my depictions of violence count as "graphic" but I erred on the side of caution. And finally, new warnings may apply to future updates. i will try to point them out as necessary.
> 
> 2: This was supposed to be klance, somehow it became shklance. I regret nothing.
> 
> 3: This AU is bananas. it's the AU that checks canon out across the bar but they're not going home together. I could go on forever about the choices I made for it and why, but not here; I promised you guys "quick." If you wanna talk about it though, hit up [my tumblr](http://teaandspacekittens.tumblr.com/).

Images flickered in and out of focus and slid through Keith’s mind like water.  Flowing, swirling, they brought a sense of both peace and strength.  Though intense, nothing caught his awareness, took hold and helped him see what his subconscious was trying to show him.  He was familiar enough with this particular sensation to simply ride the wave of it and absorb what he could.  He was content to accept what his magic provided and didn’t push for more as he had in his youth.  These “callings” - the feelings of something looming on the horizon, the unshakable notion that whatever it was he needed to be involved, the brief glimpses of things he never understood in the moment - Keith had learned that they were not only imprecise, but fickle and sensitive.  Demanding his magic leave him more to work with only led to an inability to see anything at all.

 

In some of the old texts he’d read, other druids had described phenomenons they’d called waking dreams, but this was different from dreaming.  Dreams he remembered, could often tell how fantastical they were in the moment.  When he woke from these fugue states, half-formed impressions of what he’d been shown were the only things that lingered, but all of it seemed like the most critical of information, not to be ignored.  There was no shaking this off the way one shook off dreams in the light of day.

 

He blinked, eyelids fluttering rapidly, coming back to himself, assessing what he’d been given by his  persnickety magic this time.  The feeling that remained with him was one of inevitable change, like a swelling tide.  The power of the image suggested he might be swept away by this change if he wasn’t careful.  He sucked in a breath, held it, let it out slowly.  Energy tingled beneath his skin, making it feel raw, and he felt hyper-aware of his surroundings.  

 

Keith looked around his tiny cottage, wondering how much of the life he’d cobbled together for himself here he was about to lose.  He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.  He wondered how much he’d care if he lost everything. 

 

Again.

 

***

 

Not much prompted Keith to stray far from his lonely little house.  There was a reason his fellow Galra had exiled him beyond the borders of their territory - they wanted him to stay there.  He was almost grateful for the banishment now; he was of course isolated from social contact, but he was also isolated from their fear and hatred of him.  It was bad enough dealing with the scowls and shouts of “traitor!” whenever he ventured into the village for supplies; he couldn’t imagine the treatment he’d receive if he lived among them.

 

The feeling racing up his spine though, that could get him moving.  A frigid, shocky frisson traveled from his tailbone to his skull, leaving a numb ache behind.  The last time he’d felt this he’d returned home starving, exhausted, beaten half to death, and with both his parents dead.  The idea that his magic was preparing him for another life altering event of that magnitude was terrifying.  His breathing sped up to an alarming rate, his panicked brain unable to help regulate the failing involuntary function.

 

He knew he needed to calm down but he  _ couldn’t _ .  Light-headed and shaking, Keith let himself sink to the floor.  He needed to  _ think _ , he needed to figure out what the reemergence of this feeling meant.  All his thoughts were drowned out by his labored breathing.

 

It wasn’t just a warning.  After several long minutes of forcing himself to take deeper breaths and hold them longer before exhaling, Keith had pushed the risk of hyperventilation back enough to become aware of a  _ pull _ in his belly he hadn’t noticed through the fear before.  He wanted to ignore it, wanted desperately to curl up into his bed, covers over his head, and block out the world around him until this feeling went away.  He knew he couldn’t.  The feeling of being swept away by a tide returned to him.  He had no desire to simply surrender to the coming flood.

 

Heart pounding out a too-fast rhythm, he put on his father's cloak and, almost as an afterthought, grabbed his mother’s dagger and secured it at his belt.  It felt right to have some part of them with him even if he didn't actually know what he was preparing for.  He headed toward the village at as quick a pace he felt comfortable maintaining for the journey, just shy of a run.  He didn’t let himself think about what state he might make the return trip in.

 

***

 

A crowd had already gathered by the time he arrived at the gates outside the citadel, but Keith couldn’t see what they’d congregated for.  He stood on the edges of the throng, fingers tapping out a stuttered beat against his thigh.  Ice still spilled up and down his back making him impatient and eager to know what he was doing here.  Then he heard the yelling.

 

The pull in his gut hooked deeper, got stronger, at the sound.  Keith pushed through the knot of people, unconcerned with the thrown elbows and shouted expletives he collected as he passed.  He needed to see who was coming; this was what his magic brought him here for.

 

Finally he made his way to the front, yet still he saw nothing.  Anticipation coiled low and heavy in his gut, winding his insides tighter and tighter until the tension seemed unbearable.  He felt ready to snap.  He was going to snap.  He couldn’t walk this knife’s edge any longer without slipping and cutting himself.

 

Low murmurs buzzed through the crowd, but none loud enough to allow individual words to be distinguished, and the two older, viciously mean looking Galra Keith stood next too weren't speaking.  There were no clues at all about what was happening.

 

A short while passed, Keith becoming dizzy with how often he forgot to breathe, and then he saw what all the commotion was about.  The freezing sensation clinging to his back crept up his skull and then his brain exploded with a baffling selection of emotions, cycling through themselves so rapid-fire Keith couldn’t even process them.  He didn’t know what this was, had never experienced anything like this, and it felt like it should be horrifying.  He felt strangely serene in the chaos of it.

 

A small party of three Alteans had been captured and a company of Galra soldiers were leading them into the village, presumably toward the castle.  Two of the Alteans were eerily silent as they were shuffled along the cobblestone road, but the third-

 

He easily stood out from them.  Not just because he was bigger and broader and bore an odd head of black hair broken by a single shock of white at the front, but because he was wriggling ceaselessly in the unflinching grip of his captor and shouting vehemently, issuing demands to be let go, insisting he know where they were being taken, relentlessly berating the company commander for not following proper rules of engagement.  The fact that all of it was being ignored entirely either didn't register or didn't concern him.

 

Burning pain spread through Keith’s chest; he was holding his breath again.  He sucked in a gulp of air right when the group moved closer.  The tingles under his skin intensified, energy building until it felt like his flesh would split like an overripe fruit.  His whole body was so overtaken with cold he shivered violently in the bright summer sun.

 

When they reached the village gates, the two quiet captives were herded in one direction while the loud one was pushed in another. 

 

The resistant prisoner began struggling ineffectively in his bonds, shouting “wait, no!” fear evident in his tone where before there had only been anger.

 

The soldier holding his shoulder sneered contemptuously.  “Not going anywhere now, wild one.”

 

The distance between the Alteans grew, and Keith watched one of the quiet ones, the younger, look up at his wilful companion.  The expression on his face begged his friend for something, but Keith couldn't quite tell what.  He stood there, waiting for whatever that look called for, his heartbeat as loud in his ears as the marching of the soldiers.  Even his magic pulled back, an illusion of stillness in his mind, seeming to wait on that precipice with everyone else for whatever came next

 

It didn't take long.  A snarl erupted from the angry Altean and he stilled momentarily, surprising his captor, then he threw all of his weight forward without warning.  It was enough to break the Galra’s hold and he fell out of the strong grip.  His bound hands didn't leave him much option for breaking his fall, meaning he pitched to the stone face-first with a painful-sounding  _ smack _ , but he started moving instantly as if anticipating that, as if unbothered by the blow.  He crawled swiftly across the ground, desperately chasing down his tribesman.

 

He had to know he couldn't make it.  Keith looked on, barely daring to breathe.  It was clear he wasn't trying to escape, only reach the other captives.  Keith remembered a similarly hopeless display of loyalty from years ago and shook his head to dispel the memory.  What was it this Altean wanted?

 

“You little Altean bastard,” the guard spit when he regained his senses.  He quickly advanced on the shuffling man regaining his hold on him with a minimum of effort, dodging weak attempts at blows with expertise.

 

The moment the Galra touched him, the prisoner flailed wildly, irrational in his efforts to free himself.  Most of what he yelled out was unintelligible, but the word “no” could be picked out of the mishmash, repeated over and over.

 

Most of the crowd was watching the noisy display, but Keith was distracted by watching the other Alteans.  The older one looked quietly resigned but the younger looked like he'd just taken a knife between his ribs, his face twisted with dawning horror and faintly disbelieving fear.

 

All the noise had finally attracted the attention of the company commander and he strode from his place at the front of the line to where the disturbance was taking place.  “What is the meaning of this delay.”  The authoritative, unimpressed bite of his voice had several of the nearest Galra jumping to attention.

 

The Galra soldier he addressed answered swiftly.  “He was trying to escape.”  He shook the prisoner by the neck to emphasize his point.

 

The commander laughed roughly and looked down at the prisoner in question, dark amusement written in every line of his body.  “You think you can get away from an entire company?”

 

No longer struggling, the Altean shot a scathing look at his guard, “idiot,” he hissed.

 

Before the prisoner could keep going, the soldier backhanded him across the face with enough force to send him to the ground, looking delighted with the opportunity to vent his frustrations.

 

Again, there was little the Altean could do to break his fall.  He hit with enough force to bounce and skid a little, and this time he remained slumped on the ground, unmoving after going down.

 

Keith winced in sympathy.  Starbursts of phantom aches bloomed across his arms and back, his memories of his own treatment at the hands of soldiers just like these strong enough to  _ feel  _ on his skin.  It only increased the sense of connection between him and this Altean and he  _ hated it _ .  Feeling connected to a captive rebel could only lead to trouble.

 

The commander bent and scooped up the prone form with a rough grip on his arm, jerking him to a standing position again.  “Care to try that again?”  He almost sounded bored now.

 

The Altean smiled, blood running from the corner of his mouth and teeth partially tinted red.  “I wasn’t trying to escape.  I want to know where you’re taking them.  You can’t separate us.”  Anger and fear were gone now, replaced in his tone by a steely determination that promised violence.

 

The guard holding him looked ready to answer that with something rude or biting, but the commander held up a hand and silenced him.  He looked the captive over, evaluating.  “They're going to the prison cooperative prisoners are kept in.  Those who resist are kept  _ somewhere else _ .”  He waited for a beat.  “Stop resisting and you can go with them.”  It was equal parts invitation and taunt.

 

There was no more fight from the Altean as he was lead away, though nothing about his posture suggested defeat.

 

Keith watched until they could no longer be seen, his fingers clenched tightly in the material of his cloak.  His magic was finally,  _ finally  _ leaving him alone, giving him room to think.  It was too little too late.  He might not know how yet, but his destiny was somehow tied to that group of Alteans.  Well, that was him fucked then.

 

***

 

The arena was loud.  The crowd within it was oppressive, pure malice and a lust for blood hanging over them like a pall.  Being inside was like running into a solid wall of noise and aggression.

 

Ordinarily, Keith would have avoided this place, but hearing that the spirited Altean and his companions would be fighting today had prompted him to don his father’s cloak again with shaking fingers.  In the four weeks since he’d watched them be brought in, he’d felt his sense of connection with them increase, but he hadn’t come up with any ideas about what he was supposed to do about it.  Even his magic had been frustratingly dormant, offering no guidance on the matter.  Despite the circumstances, Keith relished the chance to just  _ see  _ them again; to justify the way his thoughts had been so overrun with them.

 

The cluster of prisoners slated for combat today waited in the alcove at one end of the pit looking like little more than livestock led to the slaughter.  Only a few managed an expression other than fearful cowering, and they only achieved grim determination.

 

An enthusiastic roar from the crowd greeted the Galra champion when he stepped out into the center of the arena, arms raised.  

 

Keith watched the big Altean flinch and look at the smallest of his group.  

 

The little prisoner curled in on himself and trembled slightly.  

 

Comprehension dawned and Keith let out a slow, ragged breath.  If the small Altean stepped into the fighting pit with the champion, he’d never get back out and everyone in the arena knew it.  His magic, which had been silent up until now, detonated in his chest at the thought of watching the coming confrontation.  Showers of sparks burned him from the inside out, demanding that he intervene.  But Keith didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know what he  _ could  _ do.  

 

He didn’t need to do anything.

 

With an unexpected burst of energy, the bigger Altean surged forward and shoved the smaller boy back with barely restrained violence.  He snarled and pounded his chest.  It was a brilliant performance and the crowd ate it up.

 

The little one hunched over on the ground, clearly injured, and stared up at his companion fearfully, like he’d never seen him before.

 

The aggressive Altean was shouting something, but Keith couldn’t hear it from this far away.  From the way the crowd erupted again, the larger man had probably claimed the fight for himself.  Keith snorted, his magic settling somewhat; the rest of the spectators were idiots.  A love of violence hadn’t been this man’s motivation; he was clearly trying to protect his smaller and presumably weaker compatriot.

 

That thought had barely surfaced in Keith’s mind before memories long buried bloomed to life behind his eyes, shocking him with their clarity.

 

_ “Run.  Don’t look back.”  His mother’s face was twisted with a look of fear, and Keith had never seen it that way before.   _

 

_ It frightened him.  Keith ran, but he couldn’t resist looking back. _

 

Overwhelmed, Keith squeezed his eyes shut and swayed on the seat.  He didn’t want to remember this.  He hated that he couldn’t think of the last moments he’d had with his parents, it made him feel like the worst son, but he never wanted to think about the events of that day again.  That didn’t stop more memories from creeping up on him.

 

_ Her dagger glinted in the sunlight. _

 

_ A hand seemed to come from nowhere and grabbed his arm as he fled.  Keith screamed in terror. _

 

_ His father jumped between him and the guard who’d grabbed him. _

 

_ The blood looked so red against the pure white of the fresh snow.  The branches of the shrubbery scratched his face and hands when he crawled through it and hid.  His breathing sounded too loud; they would hear him.  The damp smell of the earth and decaying leaves clogged his nose. _

 

Keith trembled noticeably now.  Bile rose in his throat.  The images wouldn’t stop flitting across his inner eye.  Why couldn’t he control this?  Why wouldn’t it just stop?

 

_ The slick slide of a sword piercing flesh was deafening to Keith in his dark and illusory bubble of protection.  The sound of his mother dying was worse because Keith couldn’t see it, his young mind left to fill in the details, borrowing from what he’d seen of his father’s last breaths.   _

 

_ Keith huddled there for more than a day after, hearing nothing but that wet, violent noise and seeing nothing but stained snow.  The cold of the air was an unrelenting, stingingly painful weight on his chest.  He was dizzy with hunger and fatigue.  He’d cried silently until he was too dehydrated to make more tears.  He was so convinced the guards would come back as soon as he left his hiding place, pitiful as it was.  He wanted to die here, where his parents had fallen.  He was too afraid to follow them to the afterlife. _

 

Vision blurring, Keith stood on unsteady legs and pushed his way to the exit.  He couldn’t stay to watch the fight.  He didn't need to see the end to know the Altean would win anyway; the desire to protect loved ones went a long way.

 

***

 

_ Like a bandage,  _ he told himself.

 

Keith ripped the tarp off the hunk of metal beneath violently.  The cover fluttered to the ground slowly.  He stared for longer than he cared to admit, heart racing.  When he’d started working on the hoverbike, he’d never anticipated using it for something like this.  He painstakingly built it from nothing, dreams of blue skies, speed, and freedom dancing in his head the whole while.  Now he was planning a likely ill-advised escape attempt for three Altean rebels he didn’t even know by name.

 

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Keith ran a hand over the smooth planes of his creation.  A gentle hum of energy warmed his palm, connecting him to the machine he'd crafted piece by piece.  Keith rather thought he was forming connections much too easily these days.  He should probably check that tendency; it was probably far too late.  He’d look into it if he survived the stupidity he had planned.

 

One last deep breath to steady himself and then he fired the engine up.  The easy rumble did more to calm him than the deep breath.  

 

Here went nothing.

 

***

 

He knew the plan - such that it was - was fucked before the bike crashed.

 

They'd been outrunning heavy fire since they got her up in the air and she was never built to handle the kind of weight four passengers brought.  No matter how skillfully Keith piloted, he’d taken as many hits as he’d dodged and that was always a losing bet.

 

Eventually, one blast was one too many and there was a sickening lurch before the bike fell toward the dirt.  One of the others cried out, but Keith couldn’t spare the attention for figuring out which it was or trying to reassure them.  He was too busy trying to keep the vehicle off the ground.  His efforts made little difference; it hit the ground in a crunch of metal and a cloud of dust.

 

Black nothingness was all that existed for Keith for several long heartbeats.  Gradually he became aware of the ringing in his ears and he regained a blurry, indistinct sense that must have been his vision.  And then there was pain; a hot line of fire slicing up his thigh and making him nauseous and shaky.  He had no idea what was happening around him, what his companions were doing or what state they were in.  He didn’t know anything except that he couldn’t keep lying there; he had to move.  He tried to roll gingerly and get his legs beneath him.  He went nowhere.

 

The heavy weight of the machine pinned Keith by the leg, and he grit his teeth against the sickening agony and tried to yank himself free.  The resistance gave with a worrying sucking noise and a blinding wave of raw, aching sensation.  Slipping loose, he pushed through the debilitating pain to shuffle and rock himself to a standing position.  He blinked blood from his eyes and surveyed the situation.

 

The bike was toast, pieces scattered about the area.  The others appeared to be in much the same shape he was - alive but not going far anytime soon, staggering and weaving about on their feet.  Shiro’s right arm was covered in blood from an unidentified injury and Keith could see red between the fingers Matt had pressed tightly to his own stomach.  

 

The pursuing Galra had managed to almost surround them by that time, a combination of blasters and swords leveled at them.

 

Keith sighed and held his hands up in surrender.  In his periphery he saw the rest of them do the same.  With the feeling of failure that washed over him, the pain in his leg faded and all Keith could feel was the sting of scratches on his face and arms and the bitter cold of the air.  Wet noises.  Red snow.  Sunlight glinting on metal.  The smell of dank earth and rotting leaves.  Keith gave up on his fight to maintain consciousness and let the darkness take him.

 

***

 

“Bring him to the caves.”  The sibilant hiss of the high priestess vibrated around the courtroom, feeling like an unwanted caress.  The strength of her power filled the space, snuffing out the oxygen, suffocating those within.  

 

A hush fell over the room; no one dared move for fear that she would turn her attention to them.

 

Inappropriate laughter bubbled up in Keith’s chest.  He shifted his weight until his injured leg screamed in protest.  The laughter died in his throat, but the morbid amusement persisted.  The rest of those gathered might be surprised by the decision, but Keith wasn't.  It was true that no Galra had been sentenced to the caves - a place so steeped in rumors and fearful whispering that it had become almost mythical to the Galra - in over a hundred years.  But Keith was no ordinary Galra.  He was the orphaned and exiled son of traitors.  He wielded an unusual and unstable magic different from other druids.  He was seen as being sympathetic to the rebel Altean cause.

 

And now he was a traitor in his own right.  No other place but the caves seemed right for him.

 

The high priestess continued, partially echoing Keith’s thoughts.  “If he is so keen to join the Alteans; he can do so there.”

 

Magic rolled beneath Keith’s breastbone, but it didn’t push him to action.  Oddly, it seemed validating; he got the sense that this was exactly where he was supposed to be going.  He went with the guards leading him away entirely without protest.  He could almost feel the water of the rising tide lapping at his feet with every step.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this first chapter? Consider reccing it to a friend. I'm super new to the fandom and could use the good press. <3


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